The Really Dark Tower
by Jorseph Killing
Summary: "There are other worlds than these." - Jake Chambers. This is one of those worlds.
1. Chapter 1

The man with the pants fled across the desert at a pretty good clip and the guy with the guns followed.

The desert was huge. It was bigger than huge. It was _really really big_. There wasn't much there except empty space where stuff would have been had it not been a desert. That's the thing about deserts, especially big ones-most people don't want to go there. People who go out into a desert like this typically fall victim of the very fatal disease called "death" but these two guys were doing okay.

The gun guy had a hide water bag, half full. He had been in this situation before and knew when to drink. He remembers his old teacher Cort saying "You should drink when you're _thirsty_. If you're not thirsty, don't drink." That advice had saved gun guy more times than he could count.

He took a moment to rest. He wore twin revolvers at his hips, dusty boots, a faded blue shirt, and a red bandana tied around his neck. As he looked out he saw nothing but the sun hammering down on a hardened surface that began at his feet and seemed to expand ever outward. The ground looked as if it were past the point of agony, decorated only by broken and jagged cracks, like smiles of what seemed to be relief. It had finally given up and all that remained was a shell. The wavering air billowed upwards giving gun guy the illusion he was doing the spaghetti dance while standing still. It was also wicked hot. Oh.. and he had a donkey. The donkey carried his stuff (the gun guys stuff) rolled up in a sack.

So he walked and eventually came across evidence of a small devil-grass campfire. It was always left in the same pattern with the last few bits of hot ash begging for more fuel before devouring itself out of existence. He gathered up a patch of fresh grass and threw it on top. It would do nothing but let out smoke for the first ten minutes before giving off a small greasy blue flame. Ten minutes wasn't a fair way of measuring this though. Time wasn't the way it had once been. It had become unreliable.

The gun guy looked around but as usual saw no other signs of the man with the pants. Other than the fire there was no evidence anyone had been there at all. He went up to his donkey untying his gunna, or stuff, whatever, and rolled it out on the ground upwind from the small fire. As the sun rolled away he put his head down, and drifted off. Tomorrow would be another day. He wasn't sure who it was that came up with that expression but gun guy found that it was almost always true.

Of course when he fell asleep the nightmares began. It's always that way with these types of people. When you find one guy chasing some other guy through a giant desert odds are pretty good a lot of bad stuff went down. They are all tough as nails when they are awake but put one of them to sleep and they toss and turn the night away thinking of all the stupid shit they have done. Unless they enjoyed the stupid shit they had done in which case they rarely have nightmares. Just to clarify the gun guy _did_ in fact have nightmares. Sometimes they were about lost loves being burned alive at the stake, shooting close relatives in the face, or all the times he had to blow into a Nintendo game cartridge to get it to work. In any case they were bad so he didn't sleep so hot. Well, he slept hot, but that was because he was in the desert. I mean "hot" in the other sense of the word like "He did not sleep _well_ ".

Tonight's sleep delivered a double feature. He thought of his old friends Cuthbert, Ernie and the big bird that had helped him earn his guns at the age of 14. He was the youngest ever to graduate to full blown gun guy status. His mind raced ahead to the day Bert had died during the Battle of Jericho Hill. I'll probably mention that famous battle close to four hundred more times as I write this but I'm never going to explain what actually happened there. All you need to know is it was a battle of epic proportions with lots of action, suspense, and drama. Anyway, he dreamt about the Battle of Jericho Hill and how his dear friend Bert had died screaming an awful lot but in a funny way only Bert could pull off. Even after the arrow had punctured his eye and he fell from his horse he had said "Look ma! I'm a cyclops!" The gun guy laughed but he was also sad. Cuthbert had been holding the horn of eld when he had fallen. It was said the horn dated back to the first of the gun guys, Arty. Gun guy stared for quite some time at the horn but was suddenly distracted by a voice he had not heard in years. It was the voice of his mother singing him to sleep..

" _Rum diddly dee, rum diddly dill  
_ _don't forget the fucking horn  
_ _on the ground at jericho hill"_

The battle had come to an end. Gun guy sat upon his horse as his mother's voice echoed from within. "Why now? Why would I hear her now? And that song! What does it all mean?" He turned his horse and began his quest toward the Really Dark Tower.

The dream that followed was of the witch Rhea. She had lived in Mejis for generations. The only time she was seen was when a boy from town would deliver her two crates of grapefruit every half-assed moon. It was said she would eat these all day, every day, in an obsessive manner. Sometimes she would sprinkle a little sugar on top. Maybe it was what kept her alive so long. She lived in a real dump. When the gun guy and Cuthbert had been in Mejis they decided to give Rhea a visit. Rhea, who already knew they were coming, had placed her pet snake up in a tree near the doorway. She went back inside and was just about to continue eating her grapefruit when he knocked. She answered. She opened the door in a slow creepy way we have come to associate with the way creepy old witches open doors. The poisonous snake fell from the tree right above gun guys head. Gun guy wasted no time in removing the snake's head via high velocity bullet-its body writhing as it hit the ground.

Rhea shrieked.

"Do you know what you've done?" she screamed.

Gun guy quickly reviewed the situation.

"Yes. I believe I do. I was standing here beneath this tree when a large snake fell from from one of those branches there." He pointed upward and continued. "Feeling threatened by it's presence I shot it's head off."

"I mean what you have done as far as killing my snake and how that action will affect your future!" said Rhea

"Oh. No. I haven't really had much time to consider that. It more or less happened just a few seconds ago"

"Well... I'm not going to tell you what I'm going to do to you! Mainly because I haven't had much time to consider anything either. I was just kind of shooting my mouth off. But I tell you this. Someday something bad will most likely occur to you. When that does happen I ask that you please blame me directly. It will save some work on my end."

"Fair enough." said gun guy.

He awoke in a half scream. He wondered if her promise had been fulfilled.

The following day the gun guy walked for what seemed like an eternity. The unforgiving sun beating down upon him. The next day was more of the same. And so on and so on. He found a few more campsites belonging to the man with the pants and rested each time. He was close. Soon he would get the answers he so desperately seeked. Soon he would have answers regarding the Really Dark Tower. After that he was pretty sure he would shoot the guy in the neck. Only time would tell.

He had no water left when he saw what appeared to be a small shack off in the distance. He had a pretty good idea that the man with the pants had stopped there. He must have. It could be a trap but the gun guy was out of options. Out of water meant out of water. It's the same as saying "You have no water". So he dragged his feet on shaky legs and buckling knees towards the small hut. At first it almost appeared to be moving away from him. His lips stung as the split apart . His eyes felt stuck looking forward. If he had tried to move them he thought they might crack like glass. His head ached with a relentless pulse knowing his heart all too well. Eventually he found himself right outside the shack. A skinny young man with dark hair appeared beneath the shaded canopy right outside the front door. The gun guy caught a glimpse of him before dropping first to his knees, and then face first onto the hard ground.

He awoke to the sound of a bird. He thought back to his big bird in Gilead. The one that had given it's life in order to help gun guy earn his guns. Big Bird was not the first, nor the last, who would sacrifice themselves for the gun guy as he continued his quest towards the Really Dark Tower.

"Caw caw" he heard the crow say followed by a louder "ba-caw ba-caw" Gun guy found it somewhat unsettling how much the bird could sound like a person doing a crow impression.

Gun guy sat up slowly at the same time lowering his hands to the grips of his guns which had become as much a part of him as his head. "You can't do much without a head." his father used to tell him. Boy wasn't that the truth! The guns were still there. He sat in the small hut upon a makeshift bed. The young man with the dark hair was outside the front door cooking something that smelled like beans and corn upon a fire fueled by wood. There was a small bucket of water beside the bed and in it sat a ladle. He took a sip and felt a shivering sensation, first in his spine then all the way out to the very ends of every hair on his body. He sighed in relief, slowly stood up, and staggered out the door. He sat by the fire never taking his eyes off the young man.

"Hey, hey, hey Gun Guy!" said the young man.

"Hey, hey hey…" replied the gun guy

"May your days not suck and your nights not suck either"

The boy hit himself on the forehead with his fist.

"Right back atcha" replied gun guy..

"Are you a man or a demon?" asked gun guy.

"Me? I'm just a normal guy, man. The demon came and split."

"What is your name?"

"Bill."

"Bill of where and whom?"

"Bill of here. My parents both died about a year ago. I think it was a year ago but time is funny out here. What's your name gun guy?"

Gun guy looked into Bill's eyes. This very well could be a trap. At the very least it could be something to slow him down.

"I am Roland of Gilead. Son of Steve."

"Nice to meet you, Roland. I think you may have scared off my last guest which is fine by me."

"What did he say to you?"

"He asked if I had food. I gave him what I could. beans and corn. He showed me a few card tricks and pulled a bunch of handkerchiefs out of his mouth. Boring shit like that. He told me he was being followed by some lunatic that would probably kill me but I had a feeling that was more his kind of thing."

"What made you think that?"

"Oh. Little things. He told me he would rip my eyes out if I didn't look at the flower on his jacket. You know, the kind that squirt water?"

Roland thought this over and when he realized it made absolutely no sense he let Bill continue.

"So anyway he took off and I waited for you. You kind of looked like shit when you showed up so I dragged your sorry ass into my little Yoda hut here and dripped some water into ya until you didn't look quite so dead. Can I ask you something Roland?"

"Shoot." Roland loved to say this every chance he could. It was his own little private joke.

"Where are your pants?"

"I lost them in Tull. I think the aptly named man with the pants has them."

"That would make sense then, yeah. I was wondering why he kept showing off this pair of dusty old jeans. He would put his arms through the leg holes, his boots on his hands, and he would put on this creepy little dancing puppet show. He just stared at me with a big grin on his face."

"He thought his magic would impress you." replied Roland

"That wasn't magic. That was a guy playing with your pants."

"To you it wasn't magic but how many of this world do you think have seen pants dance in that fashion?"

"I think you need to lay back down Roland."

"I suppose"

"Oh.. your donkey dropped dead and my bird Moutza ate his eyeballs"

"What donk.. Oh. That's fine"

Roland was starting to soften. He liked Bill. Bill did not seem to have any sort of agenda. He was pretty sure Bill would ask him about Tull any minute now.

Bill took some beans with a wooden spoon out of the pot above the fire and filled two bowls.

"Here. These taste horrible but it's better than what Moutza had for dinner"

"Thank you, Bill" He waited for Bill to ask about Tull. Bill didn't ask. He just sat there eating his beans.

Roland stretched his arms back as if he had just awoken from a long sleep and said "Boy! That town Tull!"

Nothing from Bill. He just sat there eating.

"Yessir! Tull. Wow! That was something!"

Now Bill was picking something from his teeth and staring up at the sky.

"Tull tully Tull Tull!. Some real crazy stuff happened there. Wow!"

Bill let out a horrible amount of gas from both ends. The beans were true.

"Aren't you going to ask me about Tull, Bill? Don't you want to hear about it?"

"Not particularly. Why?"

"I just thought…"

"Do you _want_ to tell me about Tull, Roland?"

"I did but to be honest I feel a little uncomfortable now."

"If you want to tell me, you can. I just can't guarantee I'll be very attentive. I'm kind of tired and I have a feeling you are probably going to drone on a bit but if it makes you feel better to talk, go for it."


	2. Tull

Tull

 _There lay a blanket of crimson flowers  
From which stands the darkest of towers  
All the Kings horses and all the Kings men  
Shall break all the beams and bring on the end_

After weeks of nothing but natural landscape Roland approached an old crooked and splintered wooden sign directing him to the town of Tull-population fifty seven. If Roland had taken the time to notice, he would have realized that he had been walking for thirty eight days and fifty seven minus thirty eight equals nineteen. I'll tell you why that number is so important later. Right now it's just to make you go slowly insane counting the letters of people's names, places, ages, shoe size (not sure I'll use that one), miles, size of giant animals, etc. to see if they add up to nineteen. Judging by the still fresh paint crossing out the previous population count (seventy six) he had a feeling this town would not be around much longer. Long enough for him to rest his donkey and get a good meal-maybe.

It was hard to see at first. The frequent sandstorms had removed almost all color from the town blending buildings with landscape. Right outside town Roland found a place to board his donkey. Looking through the stalls as he passed them he saw the usual breeds. Cows with three heads, the middle one being upside down. Large pigeon like creatures that were large pigeons. There was one horse but he had The Dance. That's when a horse dances, sometimes with other horses. They are usually sold for meat. As a child he had seen one similar that would ride a unicycle. A middle aged man came walking out from the barn to meet Roland. The man was thin and most of his teeth were gone. Thin wisps of hair sat upon his sunburned scalp. His clothes hung loose from his body. One of his eyes was a milky white color.

"Hey, hey, hey Gun Guy!"

"Hey. hey, hey"

"Why I ain't seen no gun guy in at least 19 years. Maybe 20!" (but we know it was 19) "How'em I supposta believe yer a real gun g..."

Before the man had even completed the word he heard the horse with the dance fall dead behind him followed by the loudest cracking sound he had ever heard.

"You shot em' dead before yer gun even made a sound! I never even seen yer arm move!"

"Can I board my donkey here for three days?" Roland asked.

"That depends on what you got fer tradin'"

Roland reached into a small leather sack tied to his belt and pulled out one gold foiled chocolate coin. These coins would only melt once they were in a person's mouth but never in their hands. I'm only telling you this bit because chocolate wouldn't really work out in the desert and I need to cover my ass. The foil wrapper caught the light of the sinking sun and momentarily flickering a rose red hue.

The old man's eyes widened.


End file.
